


Lazy Afternoon

by TheFaye92



Series: Shield and Foundation [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blackwall's POV, F/M, Fishing, Fluff, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaye92/pseuds/TheFaye92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the Inquisitor deserves an afternoon off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> This little snippet takes place before the Revelations quest line in Inquisition.

**Lazy Afternoon**

He found the Inquisitor at her desk, dutifully scratching away at papers with a peacock feather quill. It was her favorite quill, a gift from some Comte eager to earn a small favor. The quill hadn’t earner a favor but the nobleman could rest easy knowing it was used to sign all manner of important documents. 

“Good morning, Blackwall,” Genevieve Trevelyan stopped her work for a moment to smile at him and then went right back to it.

“You’ve spent three days shut in this room,” Blackwall exclaimed. Genevieve was not the kind of woman who should be shut up doing paperwork. She needed to be out in the sun, out in the garden, dirt up to her elbows while she planted some new flower he had never heard of.

Although today he had a different plan. He had spent hours yesterday looking for the perfect spot. A place by the river with lots of foliage. A place where he could whisk her away for the day. He had even packed a picnic and saddled his horse and her dracolisk, Fiend. They could be gone in minutes, and none the wiser.

“Unfortunately, if there is a spell to make paperwork do itself I don’t know it.” She muttered dipping her quill in ink.

“Well,” Blackwall chuckled. “I’ve a trick to make it go away, if you’d like to try it.”

She set her quill on its rest and looked up at him, a slightly amused smirk on her lips. “And how does this trick work?”

“Well,” he began, striding to the desk and putting the lid on her inkwell. “For starters you’ll have to put on some old clothes you don’t mind getting dirty,”

“Uh huh, and?”

“And then grab a book and come out to the barn.”

“And then?”

“It’s a secret, old Grey Warden magic.”

She laughed, pretty as a sonnet. He wanted to hear her laugh again, but he feared when she looked down at her desk that she might deny him. _“I hate doing it,”_ she might tell him, _“but it must be done.”_

She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could leave her he leaned down across the desk and kissed her. It seemed to surprise her at first, but she relaxed and even found her feet so she could stand up. He reached down and took her hand, threading their fingers together. When he pulled away, she seemed only slightly dizzy and had a look that spoke; _“I wasn’t finished.”_

“Come to the barn,” he rasped, turned, and left her. 

For a while he stood in the barn absentmindedly rearranging his tools. He was worried that she wouldn’t come at all. That she might continue on with her work as long as he wasn’t there to distract her. He thought maybe he would go back up to her quarters, hoist her over his shoulder and carry her down; all the while hoping her personal guards, Ser Marbrand and Ser Brandon, wouldn’t feel obliged to rescue her.

He was just about to head back up there when he saw her coming towards the barn, dressed in pair of old leggings and tunic she’d patched with mismatched bits of cloth. A light grey cloak hung around her shoulders, a book under her arm, and she had brushed her short hair back. She was breathtaking.

Blackwall smiled and beckoned her to the barn. There was still time to escape before someone tried to stop them. She followed him and brightened when she saw Fiend saddled.

“Where are we going?” She asked, rubbing gentle fingers over the dracolisk’s snout. The beast gave her a nudge with his nose, pleased to be going out on an adventure with her. She mounted Fiend and continued rubbing his neck.

“You’ll have to follow me,” Blackwall mounted his mare and they headed for the gate. Once on the bridge, Blackwall gave his mare a soft kick and they raced down to the valley. They finally slowed when they had left the camps behind.

It was spring now. Although here in the Frostbacks the snow and ice rarely melted, the further downstream they went the less snow and ice they found. There were trees in the lower valley, good hunting, and patches of grass and sunlight perfect to spend a lazy afternoon in. Blackwall was leading the Inquisitor to one such place. A place right on the river with good fishing and good plant life.

The little path leading into the lower valley was wide enough for them to ride abreast and Genevieve gently reached over to lace their hands together. Blackwall could sense his mare was getting nervous being so close to the dracolisk, and as if on cue, Fiend reached over and snapped missing their mare by inches.

“ _No,_ ” Genevieve growled and Blackwall would have sworn the dracolisk frowned at her.

Blackwall chuckled and let his mare move ahead. “This way, my lady,” they moved deeper into the forest, away from the roaring river. He and a few Inquisition soldiers had cut this path when they had first arrived at Skyhold. It led to a fork, one path leading deeper into the forest and another leading back to the river.

They took the river path and came back across the shore. “Just a little further,” Blackwall assured the Inquisitor. The river was still too treacherous here.

Finally, Blackwall led them through a dense copse of trees and stopped. Here the riverside was more like coarse sand than the usual rocky shore. It made for a soft place to sit. The trees surrounded the little spot, giving them cover from the wind. There was even a little patch of grass for grazing.

Blackwall dismounted and then lifted Genevieve out of her saddle, spun her around, and set her gently onto her feet. “It’s so quiet here,” she remarked, trying Fiend to a nearby tree and away from Blackwall’s mare.

“That was the idea,” Blackwall said. He pulled a blanket out of his saddle bag and laid it out onto the shore. Then he set out their lunch: bread, cheese, cold beef, and berry tarts pilfered from right under the cook’s nose. Lastly, he set down a wineskin and offered her a place to sit. “Help yourself,” he told her.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she sat down with her book and took a chunk of bread and cheese.

Blackwall made sure she had her first bite before tying up his mare and taking out the fishing pole he’d tied to the saddle. It was a simple wooden pole he’d cut himself and strung using an old bow string. The blacksmith had even made him a set of hooks and weights to use.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Genevieve asked.

“In a moment,” he told her. “Be right back,” he walked into the trees and found a rock perfect for worm hunting. As soon as he moved the stone, a few earwigs crawled away and he was free to dig. He didn’t have to dig for very long when he found his first worm, hooked it, put the rock back, and went back to the clearing.

“Is this a good spot for fishing?” the Inquisitor asked, the wineskin at her lips.

Blackwall cast out and chucked; “Does it matter?” He jammed the end of the pole into the mud and sand.

She smirked, took a sip of wine, and said; “I suppose not.”

Blackwall washed his hands in the cold river water and sat down beside her on the blanket. He fixed himself a small sandwich and she scooted closer to him, their shoulders touching. She passed him the wine so she could open her book. It was poetry, she seemed to like those a lot.

The gentle press of her weight against him made warmth spread through his body. He slipped a hand around her waist, drawing her closer. She smelled like elfroot and mint, so fresh and sweet it made his mouth water. He kissed her shoulder and then her neck.

“You’re tickling me,” she giggled, his mouth pressed against the back of her neck.

“It’s the beard,” he lamented and then returned to kissing her. Giggling still, she tried to get up, but his arm around her waist kept her from escaping, not that she put up a real fight. Quickly, she turned in his arms and surprised him with a kiss of her own.

Her kisses were always gentle; the kind of kiss he would expect from a Lady. And despite her sweet nature and her inexperience it was always something otherworldly. Something that took him away from this world—from his lies, his sins—and brought him into _their_ world. Here she wasn’t the Inquisitor, she was just Genevieve and he wasn’t a phony Warden, he was just himself. A man and a woman who enjoyed kisses and wine and a quiet riverbank.

Blackwall fell against the blanket, their lunch forgotten. This was all he needed now.

Genevieve drew away and laid her head on his chest. Blackwall smoothed his fingers through her hair and held her to him. He wanted to wake up like this every morning and go to sleep like this every night. It was a blessing just to hold her, to believe he was the man she thought he was. She did that to him, made him better than he was. She gave this gift to him every day and she didn’t even know it.

She hummed and nestled into his chest, one of her hands found his and they laced their fingers together. Blackwall was content to stay like that when his stomach growled.

Genevieve laughed as she sat up. “I think you’re hungry,” she handed him a berry tart.

“Forgive me my lady,” Blackwall chuckled, taking the tart. He finished it in a few bites and washed it down with a gulp of wine. Genevieve took the skin from him and took a few long swallows, bringing color to her cheeks minutes later.

“You should check your pole,” the Inquisitor said, getting up, a piece of cold beef in her hands. “Here Fiend,” she tossed the piece of beef at the dracolisk and the beast caught it.

Blackwall pulled his pole out of the silt and sat on the edge of the blanket. Genevieve was now examining the meadow grasses, “I didn’t know dog-tail grew here,” she smiled holding up a sheaf of grass before putting it away in a pouch on her belt. “This is such a lovely spot.” She stretched up towards the sun and yawned.

She took another sip of wine and opened her book again. This time Blackwall was content to let her read. He liked to watch her read; sometimes the emotions conveyed on the page showed up on her features. He had seen her tear up at something sad and smile in triumph when something good happened. But when she read poetry he would watch her eyes dart back and forth across the page, soaking up the words like they were Holy Scripture. He loved the way her face drew peaceful when she read something pastoral, or how the suggestive might bring color to her cheeks. She was smiling now; something on the page amused her.

Even in the springtime, the Frostbacks grew dark early. Blackwall stuck his pole back into the mud and went to find some firewood. He came back to the clearing with a pile of near-dry wood and started piling it up at the center of the clearing. Genevieve had already wrapped herself back up in her cloak.

“Would my lady do the honors?” Blackwall asked, arranging the wood into a proper campfire. Genevieve put her hand to it, lighting the wood with ease. Soon they had a crackling little fire to keep them warm.

Genevieve moved closer to the flames so she could use the light to read. Blackwall found another worm and hooked it on his pole. Early sundown was the best time to fish, and he didn’t want to miss a chance to actually catch something today. He tossed his line out and sat down next to the Inquisitor. This time nearness was enough and they passed the wineskin back and forth and nibbled on cheese.

Blackwall had always enjoyed fishing, a good warrior had patients and fishing required a lot of that. Although, he’d never been fishing with a belly full of wine and a sweet woman beside him. This, he decided, was the best fishing he’d ever done.

Just as the stars started appearing and he was readying to steal a kiss, he felt a tug on his pole. He gave it a responding tug and felt it returned. “I think I’ve got something,” he jumped up and gave the line a sharp tug, hoping the truly hook the fish.

Genevieve set her book down on the blanket and got to her feet to watch. Blackwall yanked again, whatever was on the other end was big enough to bend the stick and he silently thanked the Maker he’d made his fishing pole out of yew wood.

“Hold this,” he said, handing the pole to Genevieve. She took it and he grabbed the string and began pulling it in. He knew it was a river trout the moment it leapt out of the water. Genevieve laughed and urged him to catch it.

The string was biting into his hand, but Blackwall kept wrapping it around his fingers, dragging the fish into the air. It wasn’t the biggest fish he had ever caught, but Genevieve clapped when he hoisted it up for her to see. It was plump with silvery scales, each set with a tiny black dot, and a pinkish belly. It was the perfect fish for two.

“Shall we roast it?” He asked, nothing compared to a fish roasted over a fire not five feet from the river it lived in.

“That sounds lovely, and we still have bread and wine,”

Blackwall cleaned and scaled the trout while she went to find sticks for roasting it.

It was full dark when they got the fish roasting. Genevieve made herself a cup of tea with the mint leaves she kept on her belt. When the fish was finished, Blackwall cleaned a flat rock in the river and used it as a plate. Genevieve used the rest of the bread to make trenchers; Blackwall took a slab of fish and set it on her trencher so the juices could soak into the bread.

They settled down to eat. Night had truly fallen now; Blackwall stayed close to Genevieve so he could share his body heat. When Genevieve finished her tea, they got back to sharing the wine. Stray bones were flicked into the fire and guts cooked up for Fiend.

When all the food was gone, Genevieve leaned against Blackwall. “When do you think they’ll find us?” she asked. Blackwall had snuck Genevieve off to hidden places before but they always returned before dark, the keep was likely in a panic now. Usually she made him take her back before anyone got upset, but she seemed content to let them stew for a bit longer.

Blackwall wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her temple. “I told Varric where we were going so if they get really flustered, he’ll tell them.”

She smirked sleepily. “So we have a few hours at least,”

Blackwall chuckled deeply and lay back against the blanket, taking Genevieve with him. Usually he wouldn’t fall asleep in the wild without a watch, but they had a dracolisk, and he supposed that was just as good as a guard dog.

In fact, a few hours later Fiend tipped the searchers off with one of his unholy shrieks. Cullen came riding into the clearing looking distinctly unhappy. Blackwall tried to protest when Genevieve took the blame for their disappearance, but she insisted it had been her idea. Cullen didn’t seem to believe her, but he let it go. 

When they returned to the keep Genevieve kissed him good night and went up to her room. Varric chuckled when Blackwall passed him in the main hall.

“Have fun?” the dwarf asked.

“Yes,” Blackwall answered. “You?”

“I kept it a secret as long as I could, but when the Seeker wanted to use the hounds I had to say something.”

Blackwall chuckled. “Thanks, Varric,”

“Anytime, Hero, anytime.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, if you liked it and you haven't checked out my story Two-Hundred Roses, please do so, I'd really appreciate it!


End file.
